


stay beyond the sunrise

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dom Pidge, Dom/sub, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith keeps sex toys in his desk, Kinda, Lance cries during sex, Multi, Or at least asexual spectrum, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Safewords, Sex Toys, That'll teach Hunk to snoop, praise kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Pidge is used to their boyfriends fighting. They don't have to like it to know exactly how to get Keith and Lance to reconcile.(Or: Pidge gets their hands dirty, and as long as it makes Lance and Keith happy, then they're happy too.)





	stay beyond the sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florfering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/gifts).



> happy late birthday fam  
> i'm only  
> 4........ months late  
> :)
> 
> anyway hf thank you for reading this trash  
> speaking of I have proofread exactly None of This so there might be a few edits when I am actually awake enough to be coherent
> 
> UPDATE: Title from Sunrise from In The Heights by Lin Manuel Miranda (I forgot to credit oops)
> 
> All characters are depicted 18+ miss me with that discourse shit

The first time it happened after Keith and Lance started dating, Pidge can't bring themselves to say they were surprised.

So it's no shock now that insults and profanities are being hurled across the room between the two after the most recent loss to Lotor. The entire team is frustrated, but with Keith and Lance heading leadership together, in a weird somewhat-functional way, the stress falls most heavily on their shoulders.

“You should have _listened_ to me!” Lance is screeching, hands thrown dramatically into the air as Keith stands a few feet away, glaring daggers as sharp as his Galran knife.

“I had it covered!” Keith shouts back, crossing his arms and turning half-away. He's like a cat, Pidge has noticed—if he can't see you, then you don't exist.

Lance picks up on it too, making a distinctly displeased noise in the imitation of some sort of bird squawk. Pidge readjusts the laptop on their legs and tries to sink into the couch.

“ _You never listen_ ,” Lance hisses.

“That's a lie, and you—”

Lance cuts him off. “I can name plenty of times that it's _not_. Pidge—”

“Don't bring me into this,” Pidge mumbles, sounding vaguely exasperated. There's always heat in the arguments between Keith and Lance, but they always work it through. Pidge thought _they_ were bad at communication, until they started dating Keith and Lance and found that literally both of their boyfriends are the only two on the castle ship _worse_ than Pidge.

And this definitely isn't a new thing. Pidge knows it'll smooth over in time. They've already broken up twice though really it was more of _someone said something that unintentionally crossed a line_ and then _someone (Lance) cried_ and then eventually they realized that, in the face of a war, petty arguments, though hurtful, aren't worth it. So far the record for Not Talking To Each Other is two days.

Pidge really hopes this isn't a new record breaker.

“I know what I'm doing,” Keith snaps.

Lance's entire body jerks with the force of his eye roll. “Yeah, right—you almost got us all _killed_. You almost got _yourself_ killed.”

“I had to do something!” Keith growls. “I'm the black paladin now, so _I_ have to make decisions.”

Lance's jaw clicks shut, gaze furious and quickly filling with tears.

Keith turns back to Lance, concern in the shape of his stance because he _knows_.

It's not that Lance doesn't respect Keith's leadership, though that's always been rocky. It's something they work together on, because Keith's leading is harsh and reckless, and Lance is always the first to call him out on his shit. So they work well together. Pidge knows that. They both know that. _They make a good team_. But it's at times like these, when Keith blatantly references the fact that he's the one who actually holds power, that Pidge knows Lance doubts his place.

Because it's not a matter of leadership—it's a matter of respect.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Lance spits, and then turns and stalks away.

“Nice,” Pidge comments dryly.

“Not in the mood, Pidge,” Keith says, voice tight.

“Sorry,” Pidge grumbles. “I hate it when you guys fight.”

There was a time, where Pidge was so absorbed with finding family, that they could remove themselves from the problems of the team. But not anymore. Not when they all care so much. Not when Voltron has become a second family, and Keith and Lance hold them tight through the sorrow of missing Matt and Dad.

“Thanks for sticking around, I guess,” Keith sighs out. “I'm gonna... yeah.”

He doesn't bother finishing the sentence because it doesn't really matter. Pidge knows he needs to work through the aggression before he'll get around to talking to Lance.

Pidge carefully closes their laptop. “Want help?”

Keith snorts, not turning to face them. He's still staring at the door that Lance ran off through. “He won't like it.”

“I have a plan,” Pidge says, picking themselves up off the couch.

Automatically, they go to Keith's side, brushing their fingers over the back of Keith's hand. Lance's is the one who likes hand-holding and gushy couple stuff, whereas Pidge and Keith save affection for more meaningful moments.

This, apparently, is one of them. Keith draws Pidge in, wrapping his arms around them. He presses a kiss to their temple, tender.

“Your hair is getting long,” he observes quietly.

Pidge can feel the tension in him as they hug him back, just as tight. “You're one to talk,” they say to his shirt. “Come on. Your room.”

 

It's been exactly thirty-six minutes. Pidge is carefully aware of the time. They're only partially paying attention to the information they're decoding on their laptop when Lance walks into the room.

Lance settles himself next to Pidge on the couch, letting his body slump until his head can rest on their shoulder. The height difference between them continues to make this position the most awkward thing ever, but Lance persists. Pidge can't bring themselves to stop him, especially when he's moping.

“You know Keith didn't mean it like that,” Pidge says after two minutes of silence.

Lance takes a deep breath, shoulder pressing into Pidge's arm with the action. “I know,” he says, dejected. “Still hurt.”

“It's not worth sulking,” Pidge informs him, and then presses a quick kiss to Lance's forehead.

Lance picks himself up, and then attempts to nudge Pidge into his lap. It kinda works. They end up with Pidge's legs thrown over his, laptop over both their laps. Lance's arm rubs in diligent motion along the curve of Pidge's back.

“Ugh,” Lance says, and taps his head against Pidge's. “But I don't wanna talk to him.”

“You're being dramatic,” Pidge says, bumping his head back.

“Overdramatic?” Lance asks, and there's a hint of insecurity to his voice.

“No,” Pidge says. Forty minutes. “It's reasonable. But you know me. All arguments are too much drama. Things are so much simpler without being angry at each other. Save it for the Galra.”

“Never seems to stop us though,” Lance muses, pouting.

“No,” Pidge agrees. “It really doesn't. But really, that argument isn't worth it and you know it. Keith knows it too. He fucked up, but you shouldn't hold it against him. He's trying.”

“He doesn't _listen_ ,” Lance whines.

“This is true,” Pidge says calmly. “And it's something Keith needs to work on. But it won't be fixed instantly and you both need time to figure this out.”

“Ugh, stop knowing things. I hate it when you're right.”

“I'm always right.”

“That—” Lance starts, and then his brow furrows. “I hate you.”

“Mmhm,” Pidge hums. They stop pretending to watch the screen of the laptop because they haven't actually noticed anything except the clock in the bottom right corner since Lance walked in. “Wanna show me how much you hate me?”

Lance's fingertips trace over Pidge's chin, tilting their face towards him. He leans in until Pidge can feel the warmth of his breath fan across their lips. He grins, cocky and shit-eating and pretty. “ _This_ much,” he hums, suggestive.

Pidge makes a humming noise back, smirking in return. “This much, huh? Prove it.”

Lance's smile turns softer, and he leans forward. So close—and then Pidge ducks away, laughing at the inevitable duck face Lance is making.

Lance lets out a squawk of protest and grabs Pidge's face between his hands, making their cheeks chubby with his hold. Pidge struggles but also doesn't want to throw their laptop across the room, and has to suffer through Lance leaving wet kisses over their nose and chin and forehead. Pidge's laughter is muffled by Lance's hands.

“Oh my God,” Pidge manages, though the words probably aren't very clear. They tap a hand furiously against Lance's arm, a plead for escape, and Lance relents, smiling wide.

Pidge blinks up at him, and then presses a chaste kiss to his mouth.

Lance lets out a soft little sigh, but before he can draw Pidge closer, they're hopping out of his lap, closing the laptop and tossing it to the couch.

“Come on,” Pidge says. “It's been forty-five minutes. You really didn't think Keith was sulking this long, did you?”

Lance's brow furrows, but he stands. “What...” He takes in Pidge's smirk and bright eyes. “What have you two been up to?”

“Me?” says Pidge innocently. “Nothing... I'm merely keeping the time.”

“For what?” Lance asks.

“Well,” drawls Pidge. “Keith wanted to work off his anger... We could call this, hmm, _endurance training_?”

Pidge grabs at Lance's hand, tugging him on, and Lance stumbles after them.

 

The second the door opens, Pidge turns to watch Lance's reaction.

Lance stares. They watch him swallow, slow, and he jumps when the door clicks shut behind him. “Holy fuck,” Lance breathes.

At the sound of Lance's voice, Keith lets out a high-pitched whine from where he is on the bed.

“Keith,” Lance chokes out, emotional and obviously aroused. “Babe, oh my God.”

Pidge turns from watching Lance to admire their handiwork. Keith is blindfolded, splayed out on the bed. Keith's arms are stretched over his head, bound together but not tied to anything. Considering Pidge was going to leave him, they hadn't wanted to force him to stay in one position the entire time. It seems he hasn't moved much, though.

But now that Lance is here, he whimpers and presses into the bed, arching his back. Probably trying to push the toy deeper into himself, but Pidge knows what they're doing. They might not be especially interested in sex, but they're no amateur, especially when it comes to their boyfriends.

“I bet he'd listen to you now,” Pidge comments quietly, and Lance's breath hitches. “You two have so much fire, but he opened up so nicely for me.”

Lance groans. “I can't believe—”

Pidge hops up on Keith's desk, swinging their legs in the air. They pick up the remote they'd left there and brandish at Lance, though he's probably not actually paying attention enough to notice what it is. Slowly, Pidge adjusts the settings. On the bed, Keith's breathing escalates and he whines again, pleading in half-words and moans.

“You get to decide when,” Pidge informs Lance.

“When?” Lance echoes, voice cracking.

“When he comes,” Pidge explains, as if this is a very simple matter. And it is, to them. But for Keith and Lance, sex has always been more. Pidge doesn't understand it exactly, but they like watching the two feel good, likes snuggling between them afterward when they're both sated and happy.

“Oh,” Lance gasps out.

“I'm keeping the control for the toy, though,” Pidge says, an afterthought. “It's fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Lance says, and Pidge can see the gears turning in his head.

“Go ahead,” says Pidge. “Touch him.” They smirk. “Ask him to beg for it.”

Lance swallows hard again and starts forward.

“Wait,” Pidge interrupts, and Lance freezes, turning towards them. “Clothes first. You'll be annoyed about them later if you don't.”

Lance opens his mouth as if to protest, and then starts pulling off his shirt. He tosses it at Pidge, who scowls and leaves it hanging on the back of Keith's desk chair because no way in hell are they folding it. But Lance will be upset if its wrinkled, so they make sure to lay it out as flat as possible.

As soon as Lance is stumbling out of his jeans, Pidge jacks up the intensity on the remote. Keith's body jerks and his mouth falls open into a silent cry. Lance watches for a moment, until Pidge turns the setting back down to something more gentle.

Lance brushes a careful hand over Keith's stomach, and he shudders in response.

“P-please,” he pants out, trying to catch his breath. His voice is wrecked from the past hour or so of being on the edge of orgasm and not ever getting it.

There are times it takes convincing with Keith, times where he plays the role of a brat so well that Pidge is sometimes fooled into thinking he really doesn't want this. There are times Pidge has to remind themselves that _this is Keith_ and Keith could fight his way through the the entire universe if he had to, that if he didn't want something, he would make it _known_.

And then there are times like these: where Keith is tired of the world and wants to let go. These are the times Pidge likes best, they think. Maybe part of it is that it's simply easier, but also because Pidge likes the weight of trust. It's comforting, albeit scary, to have someone love you enough to put their complete and utter faith in you. Pidge holds that weight like a blanket around their shoulders, carries it as a reminder of Keith and Lance's love.

They always work it out. All three of them.

Lance's fingers brush in careful movements over Keith's skin, gentle and exploratory. He's whispering, soft and sure. Sweet nothings. _You're beautiful._ S _o gorgeous. Pidge took such good care of you, but now it's my turn_. Pidge grins at that last one.

Lance reaches the blindfold, thumb caressing over the fabric. “Can I take this off?”

“The lights are dimmed, so it should be fine,” Pidge says. “Slowly, though. He's in subspace pretty deep, so just be careful.”

“Keith, I'm going to take the blindfold off,” Lance says softly. “What's your color?”

“Gr-green,” Keith manages, voice hoarse.

“Good boy,” Lance hums, and with nimble but cautious fingers, he slips the blindfold from Keith's eyes.

Keith blinks up at him, an odd sort of pleading in his gaze. Lance puts his hand on Keith's cheek, and Keith leans into it with a soft sigh. Pidge watches, admires, as Lance leans down and kisses him, soft and slow and sure. It's gentle and chaste and loving, and not at all what these two idiots need to work out whatever is going through their heads.

Pidge amps up the settings on the controller.

Keith gasps against Lance's mouth, arching off the bed. He keeps his hands above his head, probably more out of habit than anything else, but he turns his body to press towards Lance. “L-Lance,” he stammers out against Lance's lips. “Pl-please, _please_.”

“I've got you,” Lance promises, and slips his tongue into Keith's mouth.

Pidge can see the way Keith begs for more—when he pushes up and bites at Lance's lips, dragging it between his teeth even as the movement of the toy makes a moan shudder through him. Lance falls for it too easily, giving in and kissing Keith more forcefully, hands roaming down his sides and gripping his hips. His fingers are digging into Keith's skin, and while Keith moans for it, both Pidge and Keith will appreciate the bruises later. There's something pretty about the marks of lovemaking, despite the fact that Pidge so very rarely finds bodies pretty at all.

But no, this wasn't the plan.

“Wait,” says Pidge, turning down the toy again so Keith has a chance at functioning properly. “Both of you, not yet.”

Lance pulls away, though it looks like he very much wants to disobey. Brats, both of them.

Pidge will punish him for it later, if it comes to it. Or now, perhaps.

Grinning, Pidge motions at Lance. “Stand up. Keith, can you stand?”

Keith makes an indiscernible noise.

“Well, I'll tell you what I have planned and then you can decide,” Pidge says, and sends Lance a sweet smile. “I want Lance to sit on the bed, and Keith, I want you to blow him. But you both listen to me, alright? Any time I tell you stop or pull away, you do it. Especially if Lance is about to come.”

Lance makes a high-pitched noise in his throat.

“Colors?” Pidge asks them.

“Green,” Lance breathes out.

“Green,” Keith echoes. “W-wait, no, yellow... I—the toy—too much.”

Pidge turns it off from the remote. “Do you want to leave it in?”

“Yes,” Keith answers, and takes a deep breath. “No more vibration.”

“No more,” Pidge promises. “So? Go ahead you two.”

Keith slowly puts his arms down, wincing slightly, but otherwise carries on. At one point, Pidge might have been concerned Keith was hiding pain, but Pidge trusts him to speak up. Lance tosses a pillow onto the floor before helping Keith down to his knees.

Lance freezes, then, looking down at Keith. Pidge can't see Keith's face, which is a shame, because Keith looks pretty when he's blissed-out and happy. Lance's breath hitches as Keith presses a kiss to Lance's thigh, and Lance gently pushes Keith's hair out of his face.

“You might wanna sit,” Pidge tells Lance. “Besides, I think he likes it when he can feel your thighs around him.”

Keith leans up at mouths at Lance's dick, still in his boxers, before Lance has a chance to move. He groans and carefully pushes Keith away, but Keith pushes forward anyway, pressing his tongue to the fabric.

“You know what he wants,” Pidge comments, leaning back on their hands to enjoy the view.

“Why— _oh—_ don't you come over here and give it to him?” Lance says, and then shudders at whatever Keith is doing with his mouth. Probably sucking the head of Lance's cock into his mouth through the fabric, if Pidge had to guess.

Pidge shrugs, and picks themselves off the desk. They pull off their shirt, self-consciousness lost long ago around Keith and Lance, and leave it on the desk chair over Lance's. It'll get too warm with it on.

Padding across the room, Pidge runs a hand over Keith's shoulder, a fleeting touch, before petting over his hair. Threading their fingers through the locks, they pull back, hard enough to make Keith whimper. Whether that's from the pain or the sensation itself, Pidge isn't sure. They lean down behind Keith, skimming their free hand along his side, pressing their fingers firmly against his hip, trying to find the same hold Lance had on him earlier.

Keith groans, and tilts his head back against Pidge's shoulder. After slipping off his boxers, Lance sits heavily on the bed, and Pidge presses a kiss to Keith's jaw. He leans back against them, savoring the warmth, and Pidge smiles against his skin.

“You're doing so well,” they tell him, words murmured against Keith's neck.

Keith smiles, a ghost of something soft.

“Can you show Lance how good you are?” Pidge asks.

Keith nods, head tapping against their shoulder, and then he turns towards them, lips parted and wanting.

Pidge obliges, pressing a kiss to Keith's mouth. It's wet and Keith's mouth is almost slack against Pidge's, but they run their tongue across his bottom lip before biting gently. Keith moans, and then breaks away, turning towards Lance.

Lance moves forward until his thighs bracket Keith's shoulders, and Keith presses a kiss to Lance's leg, soft and careful. He makes his way up Lance's thigh, leaving wet marks where he sucks bruises into the fragile skin. Pidge follows him with their hand, pressing their fingers into the smooth of Lance's skin—he shaves, of course he does—and making him groan.

When Keith finally presses his mouth to Lance's dick, Lance murmurs a choked praise to him. His fingers thread through Keith's hair, a threat and a promise. Pidge draws back to watch over Keith's shoulder, as he works his way down Lance's cock. Lance moans, a low sound, and Pidge appreciates the way he leans back on his hands to show off the curve of his body.

There's something gorgeous about the two of them together. Maybe it's because Pidge loves them.

They can see Keith's jaw working, trying to take all of Lance's cock into his mouth. Lance lets out a low moan, head falling back and eyes fluttering closed. Pidge presses a kiss to Keith's shoulder blade as a reward while running their fingers over his ribs, soft caresses and scratches of sensation. Keith shudders under the touch, letting out a muffled whimper.

Pidge scrapes their teeth over Keith's skin, and then their eyes flicks up the the line of Lance's neck, stretched as he tilts his head towards the ceiling.

“Lance,” Pidge says, low and commanding.

With what seems to be a great deal of effort, Lance tips his chin down, gaze hazy and blinking impossibly slowly. His mouth falls open as if to speak, and then Keith shifts forward, and instead a choked wheeze falls from Lance's parted lips.

“Look at him,” Pidge orders, turning so their breath fans warmly across Keith's nape. “Look at how much he wants you, wants to choke on your dick.”

“Pid—” Lance tries, but then Keith moans around Lance's cock. Lance's voice cuts off, breathless, and his hips stutter forward, probably unintentionally.

And that's exactly what Keith wants. Pidge knows.

They'll admit, it took them a couple of times to get used to the sound of Keith gagging—it seems so harsh, and all Pidge wants is for their boys to feel loved and cared for. But now? Now, as Keith's throat works tight around Lance's dick, Pidge slides their hands across Keith's back, skimming their fingers over his Adam's apple and resting their palm there. Because even as Keith's gag reflex fights against the intrusion, Pidge can feel Lance's cock in Keith's throat. Or at least the result of it: the way what would be a moan vibrates brokenly in Keith's throat, the way his muscles constrict around Lance, the way Keith's entire body trembles with each gasp for breath.

“You're doing so good,” Pidge whispers to him, their other hand petting gently at his hip. “So pretty, so giving. Lance is so grateful, isn't he? Lance?”

“Yes,” Lance gasps out, gaze still pinned on Keith. He reaches forward, fingers slipping between Keith's bangs to push them back. “S'good,” Lance slurs, eyes going half-lidded.

There's a tension in Lance's thighs, a tremor in the arch of his spine as his eyes roll back into his head. And the soft gasp of pleasure followed by a loud moan—

—Is cut off.

“Stop,” Pidge says, and that's all that needs to be said.

Keith hesitations for only a fraction of a second before carefully pulling back.

Meanwhile, Lance groans, chest heaving from the effort of pulling himself back. “Fuck—Pidge—Keith—God, _please_.”

“Look, Keith, he's already begging,” Pidge observes mildly.

They suck a mark into Keith's shoulder, a reward for his quick response, and Keith makes a soft little whimpering sound. Lance moans, though Pidge isn't quite sure if it's pleasured or pained.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Pidge asks him. “Do you want to make Lance watch?”

Keith's gaze flicks to Lance, and then he turns more fully to Pidge, nodding.

“Good boy,” Pidge says, leaning forward. They pause right before meeting Keith's lips. “You know,” they breathe. “You were such a good boy for a full forty-five minutes while Lance sulked. Don't you think it's fair that he be punished too?”

“Oh God,” Lance utters, awed or terrified. Maybe both.

Keith blinks once at Pidge, and then smiles, soft and pure.

Pidge pecks him on the lips. “Do you think you could come more than once today, Keith? I want you to think about it before you answer.”

Keith's brow furrows for a moment. He tilts away from Pidge, obviously making an effort to distance himself into rationality. “I think so,” he finally replies, voice wrecked but sure.

Pidge smirks. “Wonderful.” Without turning, they point towards Keith's desk over their shoulder. “Lance, lube's in the desk. Get yourself ready.”

“For what?” Lance asks carefully as he struggles to stand. The proximity forces Keith to lean back and, not for the first time, Pidge is glad the paladin training has given them the upper body strength to support him.

“Keith is going to ride you until he comes,” Pidge says. “Only him for now, so get the ring.”

Behind Pidge, there's the sound of something hitting the floor.

“Whatever it is,” Pidge says. “Unless it's broken—”

Keith jolts against Pidge's chest, body going rigid and crying out through a hoarse voice. Because, _shit_ , that must have been the remote Lance dropped, and _fuck Pidge wasn't going to use it_.

Pidge's head whips around, but they can't exactly quickly extract themselves from Keith. “Turn it off!” Pidge hisses.

“No,” gasps out Keith, panting. “Please, _please_.”

Except that Pidge doesn't know what Keith wants and they refuse to betray his trust like this. “Off,” Pidge tells Lance, and then Keith slumps against Pidge again, whimpering.

“I'm sorry,” Lance breathes out.

“Keith,” Pidge whispers against his temple. “Keith, what's your color?”

Keith takes a shuddering breath. “G-Green. Please, _please_ , I wanna...”

“What do you want?” Pidge asks, carefully calm.

Keith make an indeterminate noise and turns to nuzzle against Pidge's neck. He takes another long breath, apparently collecting himself. “Kiss me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over Pidge's skin.

“Do you want to ride Lance after?”

“Yes,” Keith answers, ghosting a kiss along Pidge's jaw. “Green.”

“Okay,” Pidge breathes out, relief settling into their bones. They'll apologize to Keith afterward, but at the moment, he's too deep in subspace to properly recognize the mishap, and if he wants to keep going...

Pidge presses their mouth to Keith's, fingers trailing up to caress along his jaw before tangling in his hair. His tongue, slipping lazily between Pidge's lips, tastes like Lance's dick, which isn't the greatest thing but Pidge can't bring themselves to mind. They tilt Keith's head by tugging on his hair, and he moans against their mouth. Pidge tastes the sound over their tongue, swallows it down, before drawing back to tug Keith's bottom lip between their teeth.

Keith makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a keen, and Pidge smooths their tongue over his lip, soothing.

“Okay, stop teasing,” Lance whines, and out of the corner of their eye, Pidge sees him sit heavily on the edge of the bed.

Pidge presses another kiss to Keith's lips. “Mm,” they say, thoughtful, and letting the noise brush vibrations on Keith's mouth. “Should we, Keith?”

Keith hums back. “I wanna ride him,” he decides, and Pidge finds themselves laughing at the determination in his voice.

“Alright,” they tell him, pecking him on the lips one last time. “Lean forward.”

Keith nods, and pushes himself to his knees, bracing his forearms on the bed. He's eager, Pidge can tell, by the way he arches his back to stick his ass out.

Lance wolf whistles.

Pidge stares at Lance for a moment, deadpan. “Lie on the bed,” they order, and Lance scrambles to comply.

Meanwhile, Pidge trails one hand down Keith's spine, a warning. He shudders slightly. Slowly, they run one finger along his rim, slick with lube and clenched around the toy. Keith whimpers, and pushes his ass out further.

“You're eager,” Pidge hums.

Keith breathes out, measured. “Please,” is all he says. “Please.”

“Fine, fine,” Pidge relents, gripping the base of the toy and slowly working it out of Keith. They occasionally push it a bit back in, just to keep Keith panting. “I suppose you've waited long enough. Lance, on the other hand... Okay, Keith. Go ahead.”

Keith pulls himself onto the bed, scrambling to position himself over Lance's hips. Pidge turns to place the toy on the desk with the remote and retrieve the lube. Meanwhile, Lance makes a choked noise that could mean anything from Keith kicking him in the lungs to Keith sinking fluidly onto his dick in a single motion.

Pidge turns, brandishing the bottle of lube.

Ah, second one, then.

For a moment, Pidge watches them. Lance: fingers gripping into Keith's hips, helping him to rise up, arms straining and mouth parted in pleasure. And Keith: arms braced against Lance's chest, fingernails digging into his skin, head thrown back and hair wild as he rides Lance's cock. Pidge feels the room weigh on them for a moment—the scent of sweat and sex, the dim lights.

There's something about this that Pidge has never understood, but watching Keith and Lance together? They can appreciate it. They don't have to get it to want to make these two boys feel good; they don't have to get it to enjoy watching the way their bodies come together, intimate and meaningful; they don't have to get it to fall in love, to know that this is just another way of showing it.

There's something fond in Pidge's heart as they walk back to the bed.

“So pretty,” Pidge comments, settling themselves behind Keith, though not close enough to interfere with his movement. “Both of you. So pretty.”

Keith moans, and Lance lets out a whimper.

“You've both done so well,” Pidge continues. “So obedient. I'm proud of you both. You're trying so hard.”

“God,” Lance chokes out.

“Keith,” Pidge says, voice pitched low. His pace stutters, just barely. “You can come, Kitten.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance grits out, thrusting up to meet Keith as he falls back down on Lance's dick, moan pitched high and wanting.

Keith stills for the most part, hips now moving in small little motions as he rocks against Lance, back arched.

Lance is letting out a string of curses in at least three languages as Keith clenches around him.

“Good boy,” Pidge tells Keith as he slumps forward against Lance.

Lance lets out a whine, a continuous litany of “ _Fuck_ ,” falling from his lips. He stares at the ceiling through Keith's hair, brow pinched.

“I'm going to get a towel,” Pidge informs them. “And clean you up, and then I'm going to open you up Lance, just like Keith. And you're going to stay still, because you're going to stay inside Keith until he's ready to go again.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance answers.

“Yup,” Pidge replies, and heads for the bathroom.

When they return, Lance and Keith are trading slow kisses, though Pidge can see the tension thrumming through Lance. He's probably trying to get Keith ready to go again as quick as possible, which is pretty sly and honestly probably too smart of an idea for Lance to come up with when his dick is this hard.

So instead of scolding him, Pidge just coaxes Keith up so they can clean off his and Lance's chest where Keith's cum has smeared between them.

“Pidge,” Lance whines.

Pidge doesn't look at him, but they do glance at Keith. He's holding himself up pretty well, hands planted firmly across Lance's stomach, taut under his splayed fingers. Lance has a hand braced on Keith's waist, thumb pressing into the skin. There's a small, sly smile on Keith's lips that informs Pidge he's about to be much more of a handful, now that he's gotten an orgasm out of the ordeal.

So that's how he wants to play. Pidge smirks at him, and Keith's gaze flicks towards the upturn of their lips.

“Lance,” Pidge says after a beat of heated eye contact with Keith.

“What,” Lance deadpans, voice breathy.

“You're not allowed to move, got it?”

“I know,” Lance quips.

Pidge turns to him and hits his shoulder with the towel.

“Ow! Gross! Okay, yes. Yes. No moving.”

“Good boy,” Pidge tells him and tosses the towel across the room.

Pidge brushes their fingertips across Keith's thigh, once. A fleeting motion, but Keith takes it for what it is: permission.

Pidge stands to the side of the bed, and bends over to kiss Lance. He makes a surprised noise, and then he's kissing her back, hungry and desperate. His tongue licks into Pidge's mouth, and in retaliation, they bite down, gentle but enough to let Lance know he's overstepping his authority here. Lance whimpers, the sound thrumming into Pidge's mouth, running on their tongue as they coax Lance's lips open.

It's as Pidge is sucking Lance's bottom lip into their mouth that Lance let's out a sudden gasp, breaking away with another curse.

Pidge feels the brush of Keith's hair against their shoulder. He's leaning down, sprawled over Lance's chest.

“God, Keith,” Lance whispers, voice lost to sensation.

Pidge reaches up, fingers tangling in Lance's hair, and turns his head so they can suck a dark bruise into his neck. Since Keith is scattering hickeys and bite marks across Lance's chest, turning his nipples red as he mouths over them, it's only fair.

“Please,” Lance hisses, breath hitching halfway through the word. “Please, _Pidge_ , _please_.”

“What do you want?” Pidge asks, biting at Lance's jaw.

“Th—” Lance's voice chokes into a moan. After he collects himself, he continues breathlessly, “Thought Keith was s-supposed to be the one b-begging.”

Then Lance yelps, body jolting.

“Well, I think Keith already made you aware what he thinks of that,” Pidge says. “And I said no moving.”

“Not fair,” Lance gasps out as Pidge pulls away. His eyes are watering. Pidge doesn't know if it's pain or pleasure but they do know that Lance doesn't care which. It's all sensation. All good.

“I guess you don't want to come, then,” Pidge says nonchalantly, and then scraping their nails along Keith's side, making him shudder. “Keith might like to go again, though.”

“Okay, okay—please,” Lance starts. His hands grip tight into the sheets as Keith tugs on a nipple with his teeth and grinds his hips over Lance's, teasing. “Please fuck me open with—ah—with your f-fingers, Pidge. Please. _Please_.”

“That's more like it,” Pidge says, then moves to sit behind Keith, nudging Lance's legs out of the way. “Keith?”

Keith makes a humming noise in response. Pidge lets it slide. They regard him for a moment while tossing the bottle of lube between their hands absently: the planes of Keith's back, sweat-slicked and smooth, muscles in his shoulders flexing as he shifts his weight to kiss along Lance's collarbone, hole wet and stretched around Lance's cock.

“Do you think Lance looks pretty when he cries?” Pidge asks.

“Fuck,” Lance breathes, and Keith stills over him.

There's a beat of stillness, and then Keith's hips roll in a soft little movement, and all the air wheezes out of Lance's lungs.

“Do you want to help me make Lance cry? Do you think that's fair, since he made you wait?”

Keith grinds his hips down again. Lance's fingers grip the sheets, arms straining.

“Keith,” Lance whispers, and there's a pleading note to his breathless voice.

There must be some sort of interaction between them that Pidge can't see, but Keith turns to smirk over his shoulder at Pidge. “Yes,” he says, firm, and then his head ducks back down, and Lance's whimper in response is muffled.

Pidge smiles to themselves, something devilish and fond all at once. It's honest. Pidge skims their fingers over Lance's thighs, coaxing his legs apart to Pidge can better situate themselves. They slick their fingers with lube, and just to remind Keith that he's not in charge tonight, they press curiously at his hole, skimming carefully along the rim.

Keith's body goes rigid for a moment, and the groan that rumbles from his chest is lost to the insistent press of Lance's lips. Teasing, Pidge pushes against ring of muscle, not enough to press a finger in, but enough to remind Keith what it's like, to feel that stretch, to be so filled. His hips jerk, and both he and Lance let out muttered curses, most unintelligible.

From there, Pidge trails their slick fingers down, light touches over Lance's balls that leave wet trails. Pidge presses against the skin underneath, and Lance's entire body twitches, one part anticipation, two parts sensation. Leaning forward, Pidge presses a kiss to the inside of Lance's knee.

“Pl-please,” Lance chokes out.

“I'll let you get away with that one,” Pidge tells him. Mostly. They bite the soft skin on the inside of Lance's thigh, and Lance lets out a quiet yelp that peters into a whimper.

Finally, Pidge pushes a finger into Lance, marveling at the way his thighs tense around them.

Keith rolls his hips again, and at the point even Pidge isn't sure if he's trying to comfort Lance or torture him. Pidge uses their free hand to trace over Keith's spine. His hips fall out of rhythm for a heartbeat as he shivers before he picks the pace up. Pidge can hear Lance's breathing, panting hard and desperate.

They curl their finger, pressing and searching. Lance's hands scramble for something to hold onto other than the sheets and one settles on Keith's thigh, while the other lands on Keith's hip, fingers digging brutally into the skin. Keith moans, and picks himself up, leaning back to look down at Lance.

“Are you good to go?” Pidge asks Keith, skimming their fingers up to his shoulder blade this time. While they wait for a reply, they press another finger into Lance's hole.

“Green,” Keith rasps, picking himself up a bit and dropping back down onto Lance's dick.

Lance makes a choked noise.

Pidge presses on his inside walls, scissors their fingers to open Lance up because they know he likes the feel of being stretched open. Suddenly, he jolts, hips involuntarily jerking upwards into Keith.

“I'm s-sorry,” Lance gasps out, because he knows he's broken the rules. Except that Pidge was expecting it. They know his limits.

“It's okay,” Pidge whispers, soft, even as they press against Lance's prostate again, making him whimper out a pained noise. “You can move. You've been good.”

Lance stutters out a curse, and then his hips push up into Keith as he comes drop down, and the impact is jarring for both of them. Keith moans, loud but voice raw, and arches his back. He slides the hand from Keith's thigh to his hip and helps Keith move, fucking up into him out of instinct even though he can't come.

Pidge's finger dance around Lance's prostate, teasing. On the next time they hit it, Lance's movement stutters, and he cries out. When Keith's hips connect with Lance's again, he lets his momentum carry his upper body down, and he splays over Lance, mouthing over Lance's neck, sucking on bruises forming from earlier.

As Keith bites down on the junction between Lance's shoulder and neck, Lance finally breaks.

“I c-can't,” he manages, and then his chest heaves with a sob. The tears spill from the corners of his eyes. Keith grinds his hips down, and Lance squeezes his eyes shut, still crying as he's overwhelmed.

“Do you think he's earned his orgasm, Keith?” Pidge asks, glancing a finger just barely over Lance's prostate. “Look at him. He's so pretty.”

Tears falling down Lance's cheeks, hair mused and shoulders littered with bite marks from Keith's just-a-bit-too-sharp teeth.

“I want him to come in me,” Keith says.

Pidge finds themselves chuckling.

“I want to keep it in me,” Keith adds.

Lance just whimpers.

“Jesus Christ,” Pidge says, shaking their head in disbelief. Except that this is entirely predictable. “Okay. Get off him then. Unless you want to come first?”

Instead of answering verbally, Keith rolls off of Lance. He turns to lay on his back and stretches out, splaying limbs and taking up too much space and Pidge is mostly sure he picked that up from Lance.

Pidge carefully removes their fingers, tugging slightly on Lance's rim, teasing. Lance moans.

“I'm going to take off the ring, okay?” Pidge tells Lance. “Color?”

“Gr-green,” Lance gasps out. The tears have slowed, but still one trickles quietly down his cheek.

Pidge takes it off, and massages their thumb into the juncture of Lance's thigh and hip. “Keith wants you to come in him,” they tell Lance. “Do you want that?”

“G-God, _please_ ,” Lance whispers, and cracks his eyes open.

After a deep breath, Lance rolls over to cover Keith's body with his, nearly kicking Pidge in the process. Keith's arms go around Lance's shoulders, pulling him close, and Pidge hears a muffled moan from Keith as Lance pushes into him.

Lance isn't going to last.

So Pidge gets off the bed, wanders towards the desk, and rummages through it until they find one of the plugs. They regard the toy and its remote still on the desk for a moment, and then turn away. Afterward. After they work through this. After Keith and Lance forget what they were fighting about and remember what is worth fighting for.

Turning back to the bed, Pidge sits down just in time to watch the elegant arch of Lance's back as he comes. Keith is messily licking into his mouth, nipping at Lance's lips and scraping his nails over Lance's shoulder blades. Lance's hips jerk, out of rhythm, and then he lands heavily on Keith, pressing a soft kiss to Keith's shoulder.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Lance murmurs against Keith's skin, a whimpered noise.

Keith returns the whine, just as loud.

Slowly, Lance pulls out and flops on the bed next to Keith.

Pidge takes his place between Keith's legs, collecting the cum leaking from Keith's hole with their thumb and pushing it back in. Keith whimpers, and Pidge presses a kiss to his thigh. “I've got you,” they tell him, reaching for the lube to drizzle some on the plug.

Keith lets out a satisfied hum as Pidge presses the toy into him, fitting it snugly against his hole and trapping Lance's cum inside him.

“Do you want to come?” Pidge asks him.

Keith nods, slow and sated despite the fact he's still hard.

Pidge reaches for Keith's dick, ghosting their fingers along the underside. As they wrap their hand around his cock, Lance's tanned fingers join theirs, and he leans over to press kisses along Keith's jaw as together he and Pidge get Keith off.

It takes a few strokes and Pidge pressing on Keith's stomach to add pressure to cum inside Keith for him to come, spilling over Pidge and Lance's fingers with a silent cry.

“These sheets are gross,” Pidge observes as they wipe their hand on the bedding. They're already covered in stains anyway.

“Mmph,” Lance responds, curling around Keith.

“Alright, fine,” Pidge says, getting up.

They collect the towel from where it was dropped and return to clean around Keith's hole and wipe down his stomach. Lance steals the towel to finish wiping off his hand before tossing it across the room.

Pidge huffs at him, because it's not like _he's_ gonna be the one to go pick it up.

“Up,” Pidge tells them both. “For just a moment. Let me take the sheets.”

“Noooo,” Keith whines into Lance's neck.

“You can hog the blankets if you get up,” Pidge bargains.

“Mmm,” Keith reasons back.

“Come on,” Lance says, soft, and pokes Keith's hip. “Just a moment. Let Pidge take care of us.”

Pidge smiles, looking down at them. “Don't I always?”

 

“You should walk around shirtless more,” Lance says, pressing a lazy kiss to Pidge's shoulder. They're all squished onto the bed: Keith pressed against the wall and completely wrapped up in a blanket, Lance in the middle with his limbs draped over Pidge to keep them from falling off the bed.

“The scars aren't pretty,” Pidge replies, voice content. It's a simple fact, nothing more.

“None of our scars are pretty,” Keith says, peering out from his blanket cocoon.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Pidge tells him.

Keith's gaze disappears into the blanket as he pulls it tighter around himself, snuggling deeper and hiding at the same time.

“We all have something to work on,” Lance murmurs, pulling Pidge closer to his chest.

“Yup,” Pidge says. “Especially you two.”

Lance goes stiff against Pidge's back.

“What?” comes Keith's muffled reply.

“Are you both still mad?”

There's a beat of silence, before Lance grudgingly admits, “Not really, no.”

“No,” Keith says, and pops his head out of the blankets. His hair is thoroughly fluffed up by the static, and Lance reaches over to try and pat it down.

“Then that means you two can talk. Now. Lay it out.”

“Ugh,” Lance groans, burying his nose into Pidge's nape. “Nooo... After cuddles.”

“I refuse to form sentences until post nap,” Keith says, and yawns, perfectly timed. It starts a chain reaction that goes from Lance to Pidge.

“See,” says Lance. “We're already agreeing on something. Nap.”

Pidge levels him with a glare that has no real heat in it. “Fine,” they allow. “But you're talking after.”

“Deal,” Lance says, and burrows his face in Pidge's neck.

He's asleep in seconds.

Pidge can hear Keith's breathing, slow and even, from the other side of Lance.

The first time it happened—when they first fell asleep together, curled against each other—Pidge didn't know how to feel.

Now, they know exactly what the tight squeeze of their heart is: adoration, respect, concern.

Because Keith and Lance are still young. None of them should be fighting a war, but here they are. And they have to get through it, fights and all.

But what prevails, what reminds Pidge that even as their chest feels tight with the weight of it all? That they love each other, and that...

Will always be greater than any argument.

For now, they're content. Pidge lets the weight of responsibility fall from their shoulders, and turns in Lance's arms to wrap themselves around him. To their surprise, they find one of Keith's arms slipped out from his blankets and wrapped around Lance's waist.

And despite the fact this won't be the last time, Pidge smiles, and lets sleep take them.

 


End file.
